Ain't It a Shame
by FallenShateiel
Summary: Malfoy forfeited his life. He's homeless and alone, hiding and starving... asking for money from Muggles he once despised...
1. Chapter 1

**Ain't it a shame. **

Chapt. 1

I have a hypothesis. There are several people who will willingly give up their change. Those who do not wish to be touched by a _lazy slob, _those who have a conscience the size of Asia, those who have done something that they find they need repentance to… and those who see the benefits of such charity.

My father was the latter. To give to the poor and underprivileged meant that society viewed the family with interest even though it was a known fact that the Malfoy's were an ancient pureblood family and would do anything to stay that way.

I wonder what he would say now if he were here. Watching me on a Muggle street with my filthy hand out to take their possibly even filthier money.

I'm hungry and tired of freezing when the sun goes down. I breathe air that moves through my chest like poison. I don't care if I beg for money, it isn't as though I am going to lower myself to sell my body. Not that it would fetch much considering the damaged features on my face and most of my body.

My once silvery blonde hair has turned dirty blond due to not washing. Not that I can find any place for a proper wash. They talk of a Youth Centre in East London that caters to such things, however I need notoriety if I am to stay alive… or is it pride that keeps me away? Surely no Wizards would inhabit that place.

Better to be safe than sorry.

It's a philosophy that I want to believe works. After all that's what my mother said is what you do when a useless dog is fatally wounded and you throw the Killing Curse just to make sure. My parents have never been what you would call ideal. But they loved me and I idolized them.

What a cruel world it truly is.

I've only been out here for a couple of weeks. Since escaping Spinner's End, I've pretty much was forced to becoming a beggar. The only other option was to go wherever Dumbledore's loyal gang was… but that would mean that my life would become as forfeit as it would have been had I stayed behind for the Dark Lord…

I've earned sixty pence. That it is better than nothing. It'll be enough for a coffee, a bag of chips. I'm impartial to both of them. There's a coffee place that reminds me of one of the anonymous places in Knockturn Alley. For the poor to rest and pretend to be civilized; the poor are uncouth and need to be taught the value of money… my father preached that to me.

I fear what I look like. The filth that clings weighing my body down. It sounds conceited I know but truth is I cannot feel the fear of the Dark Lord or the Wrath of Harry Fucking Potter.

I fear seeing the monster I've been forced to become.

Not that I have become a monster in the normal sense. Not like Voldemort or any the many rivals that Merlin The Great had.

No. I have become a half starved monster whose skin is stretched painfully of the cheekbones. Whose once sharp grey eyes, are dulled and smoking… yesterday I wrapped my hand around my wrist, I could feel the bone pushing out. I look too delicate to begin with… my small stature and rather feminine features (though, I won't ever admit that out loud.) but now I have to deal with it all in a ten- fold. It helps with panhandling, but at night I nearly have to hide in any crook or corner I can in order to avoid the predators at night.

I used to think that the night was only haunted by the creatures that lived in the Forbidden Forest, but now I know that there is more to what I supposed.

Seek to understand then to be understood… who said that?

Not that I care. That isn't how things are done in reality.

It's the conclusion that people are arseholes… I haven't made any money and it's noon. Besides I'm not allowed in the big library downtown because it is so obvious that I am not of financial benefits. So I'm forced on the other side of London in a dingy dark library. Where the books are dying of mildew, and destroyed bindings.

I wonder what the Mudblood would do if she were see all the destruction of knowledge. Not that I believe Muggle's are knowledgeable… if they were they wouldn't have gone mad with all the 'Witch Bitch' business and kept with the Wizarding World. We could've helped each other, but like Potter did to the Slytherin assume one is evil merely because another takes offence… condemn each other to damnation.

OK. I'm willing to admit that that was a bit too poetic.

But when you spend as much time as you can in a shitty library that does at least of internal heating, you can't help but read the poetry… I refuse to read any books on mechanics… mostly because I find it confusing how they come up with such things without the aid of magic.

Though it isn't hard to walk up to the counter and ask the ancient old lady whose unpleasant face reminds me of the Hogwarts librarian. Madam Pince… oh how we had fun on the rumours spread around about her and Filch.

I wouldn't ever dare talk to anyone but another Slytherin back in Hogwarts, but I'm lonely and need for someone to talk back to me. Which she does, as she loses her icy exterior. I like the way her voice clips in nasally clearly instilling that she either is or was a smoker.

I've been told by her to read a bunch of books on _physics. _I've started to read some. It doesn't really make any sense to me why Muggles would write about the most obvious of things. Like gravity, common sense right? Then it goes into what friction is… like I said I don't really understand why Muggle's insist on studying all of that. Though I do get the big picture. It bothers me that things like this are not talked of in Hogwarts or any of the subjects they teach us.

I suppose it's because it's irrelevant to teach us why the things are the shape and size that they are. To speak of the Beginning of Time as we count it… I like the library if only for the knowledge that would never do me well in a world where I ruled by gold.

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Sometimes late at night when I'm huddled underneath the sleeping bag I nicked off some place, I get scared when thinking of what's going to happen if I get caught. If Potter and his Lame Game will find some way to get a hold of me and break me in that inhuman ways of theirs. Or if Snape and the Death Eater's will come here to make sure that I pay for my abandonment.

What's weird though, I fear the most at being _not _found.

I huddle and think of Spinner's End and it's many walls of pealing paint. I could see my own breath in the start of the day. I could feel myself wasting and becoming the drone I made Victor and Gregory. I remembered the way that the hexes continued to find their way scar my face.

Or any part of my anatomy.

But it isn't night. And my stomach is growling greedily.

I am Draco Malfoy, The Panhandler…

The Hypocrite…

A/N: I have an idea for this fic. A homeless Malfoy seemed plausible.

After all the Slytherins do anything to survive. 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: The title of this story is supposed to be ironic. If you've listened to Nirvana's song Ain't it a shame you probably will get why I picked the title. Also I watched something about a woman who would do make-ups for hookers to make them feel good… feeling good gives hope. I thought it was a nice thought…

**Chapter 2 **

_I got the blues so bad _

_It hurts my tongue to talk. _

_- Some old blues song _

_That I have on tape. _

There are several things you learn out on the street. One of them is that unless you manage to make a loyal friend or become one with a group you are in danger of being sucked in by what I've called the Vulture Effect… in other words prostitution or thievery.

I don't make friends so I naturally walk around all night hoping to find some place eventually to lay down my sleeping bag and embark on a restless night. I find that I allow myself to wander. In my mind as well as my physical being. I think it has something to do with the night; everyone who was considered a great thinker walked in the night. The twilight glinting making one think emasculate fairy tales…

I sometimes get a coffee in a Muggle place called 'Starbucks'. I nurse over that aroma for as long as I can stall… sometimes there are people who give me dirty looks because of how I look. The obvious dishevelment of my clothes…

_Runaway… _as if it's a disease; no understanding, no sympathy… nothing.

Not to say that there aren't some. There are quite a lot but most of them are more pitiful and likely to believe that you are suffering from drug addiction… no one really believes that you just made the wrong decisions.

I've met some kids here. The ones that weren't very smart and saw no point in school. Some of them are even grimier than me. Which to be honest I never thought would be possible. Then again they tend to laugh at me because I nick toothbrushes and toothpaste out of stores.

There's a girl whose name is Amber… she's pregnant and still turning tricks. She smokes, but I find it redundant to tell her that it's a stupid way to insure that her child ends up in a retarded state of mind… her icy coldness and obvious sense of strength. My mother's strength… it's overwhelming but I like the false sense of security I get from her. The way her wire brown hair tangles around her shoulders…

I wish I were home. With my mother's strength to keep me warm.

Amber. I don't really like the name it sounds so… common…

When it comes to things like that I don't suspect that I'll change. The whole aristocratic shit that I've grown up, as no that'll be a part of me for a very long time.

There are other kids like Amber whose every second word is 'fuck' 'shit' or anything of the one syllable variety. I've noticed some of them are illiterate and I can't help but remind myself of Greg and Vincent. Though I understand that they had mental problems… dyslexia is what they call it out of here. They also talk about be hyperactive, which confuses me because Greg and Vincent were anything but.

It's cold on the streets… but nothing so cold as the alleys where the Muggle authorities try to keep those who have no place to go. I think it's a bit ironic that both worlds have the same viewpoint on the poor. To help but not go so far as to touch the actual issue…

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They have things called 'turfs' here. Territorial markings are what I think of them. As if we're all werewolves and vampires who are forced to claim their own. It makes me laugh at odd times when I think this way causing even the other 'street kids' to look at me strange.

Some of the territorial markings are on the side streets for the whores and their pimps. Other's are for the young who would appeal to the upper people of London. There is some claim for standing outside of churches hoping for goodwill from god-fearing people. These ones are nearly always fought over. Mainly because of the good money you make… I know this because I've stalked claim outside more than once.

'Street kids' don't do the downtown part of London because the police almost always catch you. They don't make a big deal out of it, but there are some stories where they take random kids off the street at night and beat them nearly to death…

I've found comfortable places to sleep at night under bridges where little villages seem to come alive. With cardboard boxes to keep in the body heat from all the people down there. There are usually metal garbage cans that are lit for fire if it's a good night.

It smells like sewage and sometimes becomes so bad that I must leave.

I've been offered drugs to take away the 'pain' and loneliness. I disincline to acquiesce to the request, because I'm not here because I had a drug addiction or a horrible family that beat and molested me during all hours of the night. In fact I don't have to be here at all…

I don't have to be. Just like no one else does.

But the circumstances that are visited on one forces the oddest of choices.

My choice is that I want to live.

Not in a cage. Not in a constant fear of 'Crucio'.

No, I'd rather starve, as I am in order to live.

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Kit- I don't know why they call him that, told me that the best place to be is in front of office buildings. Where he says the 'geeks' work. They always give the homeless food instead of money… they don't believe that the money will go to actual _food_ and since someone can go up to another and gut them open to get the already 'shit food' it would be better to stake claim over one of them.

So that's what I've done.

Staked claim over an office building that's tall and looks immaculately clean from where I sit on a stonewall. If I keep my head down and don't actively go up to people with my hands outstretched they give me either money or a little something to eat. I was given a small cup of warm milk from the store across from the building that I've begun to think of as my own.

I can tell there are some people who don't want me hanging around.

I leave when the security guard starts to walk slowly to me.

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	3. Chapter 3

**a/n: word to the wise… when cutting firewood try not to cut tip if thumb off… thank god for public health care. **

**Chapt. 3 **

****

**"Montague's just been found in a toilet, Sir." **

****

**-Draco Malfoy **

**Order of the Phoenix**

There's several things in my life that I've done wrong. Well, probably a hell of a lot more but I only count 4 of them.

1. Propositioning the Boy Who Lived to be his friend or foe.

2. Pissing off that hippogriff and the old man I consider still a hippogriff.

3. Stupid enough to get 'Betrothed' to Pansy Parkinson.

4. Trying to kill Dumbledore and failing in cowardice.

Like I mentioned there's probably a lot more. More than likely there will be more to add as well.

Such as allowing myself to get kicked off of what I considered my territorial marking.

Territorial Pissing… that's what I should've done… ex- Professor Lupin probably could've given me some pointers.

It's perhaps the one thing that I should've made sure that I fought for. The right to live even if it means to degrade myself to beg from others… the people I've always considered my inferiors.

The rather poetical justice of my life. I know that it seems too trivial to be something that Draco Malfoy the Slytherin Pureblood would divulge in.

I really don't know what to do. There are so many things royally fucked with me.

But the true irony of my life is the fact that I'm going from 'Money' to begging on the street.

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I don't know whether or not to be ashamed of myself or to be disgusted at these things who call themselves 'human beings'. So far as I can tell they are not human beings but rather some useless, heartless biological vertebrates that have no moral ethical values.

"Why don't don't you go get a job." Oh that disdain.

I would you fuckface but YOU seem to have a problem in giving me one.

"Should've stayed in school."

Oh, and be killed or thrown into a prison that seems to mock the already doomed. Having the life sucked out of me, even if there is no Dementor's there anymore. I don't care; I am not going to have my body rotting in a prison for vagrants.

I know I shouldn't sound as if being a vagrant is beneath me. In fact nearly all of my forefathers were probably vagrants. The only thing is is that they did it with style. That's something that not some common thief has.

However today, the 9th day of my impoverished livelihood I have tried to better myself in a world that I only hold revulsion for. Only to have it thrown back into my face. If this were the Wizarding world I would have them suffer the most horrendous duration of the Malfoy wrath for such humiliation.

Yet no, I have such privileged.

Instead I have a 'full of holes' sleeping back and winter gloves whose fingers I have long bitten off along with the filthy nails I had grown accustomed to.

It was at a food stand I was given the refusal. The fact that a man whose filth raised questions even in my mind is where I am most indignant. The way I didn't get one word in and the man says,

"No, we don't need any help."

Then he has the audacity to turn back as if I am not there.

If I had a wand I would've taken a line out of Potter's book and thrown a near deadly curse at him.

Alas, no such thing was possible so I turned around and walked away.

To be honest I never thought that I would give into defeat like I have.

Yet, _I tried._ I tried and I failed and everything that my parents taught has been proven wrong that if you try then you achieve your dreams.

The burning sensation that prickles in the back of my eyes can no longer allow me to deny.

I tried and I failed.

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"So how much are you?" The man is greasy and big. It reminds me of a miniature Hagrid. The shudder that goes through me is barely visible in the dark.

"I'm not for sale." I feel proud in saying this, despite the fact that my stomach feels as though it could either cave or explode as a volcano.

The man nods his head.

"So who are?" I'm a little taken back that this man doesn't seem to mind that I'm not going to do it. Then again I'm probably not much to look at.

I nod over to the other side of the alley wall. We call him Spinney and he's hyperactive but with a drug problem. He does men so long as they give him something to ease the pain. He's explained this to me a couple of times trying to say that it doesn't mean he's a fag. I always tell him that it doesn't matter if he is or he isn't. But for some reason his sallow caved in face needs more than that.

I hate it out here.

I hate the way it is.

I hate the fact that the tears still fall and my heart still tries to break despite my insistence that it doesn't.

I hate the thought of giving up and allowing myself to become weak and pathetic.

So I make promises to myself every time I find myself just wandering around. That I'll make it through no matter what, that I'll be Draco Malfoy once again.

A/N: 15 chapters of this story. And the main reason for this story is to think of a way for Malfoy to live until he is caught. I won't give away anymore than that 


	4. Chapter 4

Chpt.4

I will not Love. I hate people.

- From some French play.

I feel cold and hungry. But beyond a doubt I'm starting to feel lonely. Painfully so.

I hate it. I don't like feeling as if I need people around me. I've always considered myself as one of those people who don't believe in people. In fact I've always been one of the people who hate other people. Not just Mudbloods or Traitors. Just people in general.  
It makes it easier to manipulate them to do what you want them to do. Besides it's something that only a Malfoy could master.

At least that's what my father used to say.

But then my father always did talk too much.

Sort of how I think too much.

I have a headache and this sore feeling in my throat so I'm getting slowly more irritable.

Which makes this sudden need to be around people even more odd.

I think that I'm too emotional.

I get angry all the time; I get too passionate during the oddest of times.

I've made a shitty Malfoy.

Though, when one sits to think about it, maybe the end result will be better than if I was a proper Malfoy.

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The Centre is rather pathetic. Sitting on a corner and beside what looks like what may have once been an apartment building. Not that much else but rats would live there. Yet I'm sure that there are kids like me in there. Hiding from the sun because one can tell they are either not ready to face the world or just plain don't fuckin' care too.

The graffiti is not at all complimentary.

I think that it would have a better impact if instead of saying "Fuck!" you could say "Cheese!"

Ok, so I'll admit the reason why I'm really here is to see if Muggles give enough of a fuck to get me something for my head.

And I'm lonely.

The latter is not one that I'm all that comfortable admitting.

Inside the little hovel there are tables that are so rickety I can't help but think that the Weasley's surely had better than this. But then I remember that if they did…

I need help if I can't think of a proper insult towards the Weasels.

"Oh, hello. Seen you around haven't I?" This boy is rather scary to me. He's a brunette but mousy. He has bruises underneath his eyes and they have this crazy glint to them. I've learned to tell the cocaine addicts who've come from rich families and are running away from home for the summer, and the one's that are true addicts that are the one's who are likely to come up to you and rip your stomach open for drugs.

I heard that from a man whose wife wanted to give me money.

Anyways this boy has the glint that the rich do. For some reason those ones give me the real creeps. Maybe because when they laugh it seems real, unlike the raspy bagpipe sound you hear from everyone else.

"I'm Tyson." A boy who thinks of a name that sounds American and like a muscle man. Wow. How original.

I nod and offer nothing myself.

Turning to one of the tables I survey the room once more.

Three tables. All shabby and falling apart. Mismatched chairs. And a dart board on the other side of the room. There is paper and pens lying around and I debate whether or not to go and get one.

"You know, if you're hungry if you go into the backroom they'll give you some soup and bread." I realize I don't like Tyson. Especially the fact that he's the only one in the room with me.

I get up to go into the room that Mouse Boy tells me to.

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By nightfall I've been fed and have used the first flush toilet in three weeks.

Strangely that makes me feel beyond content.

I've looked at myself in the mirror and seen the face of death. But when I look around the room to the other homeless and depraved I realize that I'm not too bad. I've managed to keep myself from falling too low.

Yet at the same time we are the same.

My head aches. My throat hurts.

I think I may be becoming sick. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Pain is a warning that something's wrong.

- Pathetically from some Madonna song.

(I hang my head in shame.)

I feel horrible.

Not that I felt anything great before.

This time it's worse.

This time it's traveled to my lungs and seems to burn uncomfortably. My throat is dry and I'm not able to swallow properly.

Perhaps it's the condensation of this factory where the paint from the walls seems to turn to mould and the spores seep into the lungs of the occupants of this forsaken place.

Perhaps it's my own body finally giving out despite the fact that it isn't that old and should still be relatively new.

I can hear the small coughs and sniffles of those around me. 'Enfants' as the French would say.

I remember when I was a child and both of my parents would yell at the houselves if I was walking around sniffling with a cold. They didn't care when Severus Snape would come over for the day and remark that it was natural for children to do so. Builds up the immune system so that the child wasn't prone to being weak when they would age.

My mother would sniff at him and walk out haughtily. She didn't at all care for Snape but being the beautiful tragic wife of Lucius Malfoy she tolerated him. As for my father he once told me to ally myself with intelligence and keep close the ones who could cause the greatest of damage.

The irony of those words don't find a way out of my unkind humour of the moment.

When I breathe in it takes all that I have not to concentrate on the smell of urine and feces along with the decay of rotting wood. I can imagine the mould rising up and finding someway in my mouth to suffocate me in my sleep.

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I never really thought I would grow up weak.

After all I was a Slytherin, rich and handsome and all of the things that everyone has ever hoped to be.

However the world hasn't been kind to me as of late.

I am no longer a worthy Slytherin, I have absolutely no money and my looks have been debauched and taken to the dumps.

Everything that I thought I was has been washed away leaving only the smell of burning flesh on my left forearm.

Yet instead of doing what the entire universe wants someone like I to do, I reach out my hand and open palm ask strangers

"Spare change?"

Yes, I Draco Malfoy…

Am a beggar.

Am a homeless child.

Am going to do whatever it takes to survive.

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I know there is something wrong. My chest hurts to breathe from. My voice is dying from the frequency and volume of the coughs. I can imagine that the ache in my chest is my heart hammering its anger to my lungs. Hammering the frustration that is slowly turning into panic.

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"You should go to the doctor." It's Mouse Boy again. I'm surprised to see him, summer is nearly over and he should be heading back to his family now that it's starting to get colder.

"Amber told me to tell you that if you want she's going to the clinic tomorrow if you want to go with her."

I merely nod and go back to the words I'm randomly putting on paper.

I don't draw which some of the workers here find odd.

Instead I think of any word I have ever read, heard or just made up and write them in columns or circles on pieces of paper.

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I've found out that the equivalent of a Healer in the Muggle world is a doctor.

I've also found out why the Muggle world has been able to dominate and devastate at the same time. The intelligence they give off and the sheer stupidity of the choices they reek of.

Watching the doctor analyze Amber I also have come to know what it is to feel empathy towards another person. The fact that Amber is clearly a person with problems that are both mental and physical and how in the Wizarding world they would forbid her to give birth to such an unfortunate creature.

But the doctor talks to Amber as if she is a normal and sane person. That she is not only endangering the unborn child but her own well being as well.

Humour the fuck- ups.

That's probably what they teach Muggle's in school.

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"Open your mouth"

The woman has light brown hair that is just above her shoulders. Her eyes are dark brown and her nose is a button nose.

I don't think it looks very complimentary to a round face such as hers.

"How long have been having these chest pains?" Her voice is hoarse and her breath smells like tobacco.

"A while."

She has straight yellow teeth when she opens her mouth.

"Well, the cough may get worse, it's been infected but I don't believe it's Strep Throat. Just relax your voice and drink lots of fluids. I can give you a prescriptions for an anti- biotic for the infections, other than that you're just going to have to tough it out."

Once again I nod.

She smiles.

I've developed a funny tenderness for people who smile at me.

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It's hard to raise money for something that is noble and absolutely innocent when one is viewed as scum.

The last person didn't believe me when I said it was for medicine. He scoffed in a way that made me think 'Arsehole' and said I would use it for drugs.

I looked in the mirror at the library and realized that I do look as if I'm on drugs with the dirt face and red eyes. I can see my cheekbones clearly and my lips are now cracking in pain…

But still I hold out my hand.

I am a beggar after all.

But let it not be said that I didn't try.

Because I did.

And I will continue to do so.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Round and round the cobbler's bench  
The monkey chased the weasel,  
The monkey thought 'twas all in fun  
Pop! Goes the weasel.

A penny for a spool of thread  
A penny for a needle,  
That's the way the money goes,  
Pop! Goes the weasel.

A half a pound of tupenny rice,  
A half a pound of treacle.  
Mix it up and make it nice,  
Pop! Goes the weasel.

Up and down the London road,  
In and out of the Eagle,  
That's the way the money goes,  
Pop! Goes the weasel.

I've no time to plead and pine,  
I've no time to wheedle,  
Kiss me quick and then I'm gone  
Pop! Goes the weasel."

-Everyone knows where this comes from.

We must blame the English.

Or British.

Or Whoever speaks English.

Actually I don't know where this came from.

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There are many things that I really don't care about. More that I don't understand. An infinate number that I don't know.

But that's when it gets too philosophical for even me.

Which is just freakin' amazing since I've found poetic justice in the damned cough and hurt throat that I have.

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I've been thinking. Not that I don't think too much already.

No, this was more than what I usually think about.

It's about God. No, not just the Christian God or the Hebrew God.

Higher Beings if you may.

I keep thinking about how most of the kids I'm around right now believe in that Higher Being without question. While at Hogwarts it was rare for anyone to say anything about belief. Only belief in Love and Understanding were ever really preached.

But here, it seems all that is a given and that belief in something isn't really needed so long as you are generous and smile even if you have no teeth.

A clash of completely different worlds.

And yet, I'm watching myself become immersed in this blind acceptance of everything that is both Good and Evil. What is Dark and Light. I find myself being drawn to watch how people interact with others.

Before I never cared.

Before I just went on being who I was and not caring that who I was and who I had become were two different things. In otherwords I was becoming my father, while the real Draco Malfoy was not a worshipper, not a follower…

Alas, not a killer.

That's what Dumbledore said to me is it not.

'You're not a murderer'

No, I'm not. Perhaps that is where I'm flawed. Perhaps that is why I don't have this obsessive compulsiveness to believe in Higher Beings or bow before dictators that would rather my head on a pike then gracing his presence.

I keep thinking about this. About this lack of belief and the ideals I have and had and knew but never believed.

Maybe I keep thinking about it because I'm afraid of losing what little I have left. The pride I've kept to being a Slytherin and a Malfoy.

Yes, that's it.

I'm afraid of losing myself in this world where I know nothing.

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"Spare some change?" My throat is raspy and my head is bowing to the ground. To be honest I don't do this because I'm ashamed. I'm not, you simply do what you have to do.

I keep my head down because it makes me more pathetic than I really am.

"Here you go." The voice has a noticable smile in it. I lift my head to smile back.

Then I stop.

Bushy brown hair. Red head right beside.

Dear God.

I look right back down. Take the money, my heart just pounding ready to lose myself in the crowd if I hear my name or any indication they know who I am.

Nothing. Just a pat on my shoulder.

"See Ron, they just need a bit compassion." An exaggerated snort is heard.

"What? So they can drink themselves into a coma."

"Mundungus probably drank more alcohol in a week than an alcoholic can drink in his lifetime and you didn't seem to have a problem with him."

"That's different."

"And he was a thief."

"So! It's not as if he…"

I take this time to leave.

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My heart is pounding savagely and without relent against my chest. I can feel the scream that I've bitten down into my throat.

I've been scared beyond belief before…

But for some reason it never served to make me want to break before.

That's what I want to do right now.

Break.

Because I feel so much pain but I don't know where I hurt.

And for some reason I hurt.

Ache.

I ache for something. Or against.

I don't know which.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Gonna Die For Your Government

Die For Your Country that's Shit."

- Anti- Flag

I wonder what the Muggle world thinks of the Wizarding world attacks.

I think that they actually use all those 'Terrorist' attack things to cover it up. After all it is more plausible that the 'MUSLIMS' could in fact get a hold of a giant to start smashing things around it.

I mean not only am I talking about the 'MUSLIMS' that happen to be Muggle and also knowledge about the Wizarding is hardly in existence. My father once mentioned to me that in the Arab world no one was to be a witch or wizard because it would take away from his or her god 'Allah'. So nearly every child that proved to be magical in the Arab world would be executed.

Oppression at the extreme.

Though from what the stupid house elf we once had told me that my parents weren't much different killing their own babies before and after me because the potions they used showed the children to be Squibs.

Of course I kicked that stupid house elf into the wall.

But now that I'm faced with the truth I don't like it.

Perhaps its because I now have to admit that I'm one of those people. One of the people that others can't help but hate.

Not that I mind it.

It's just that I can't find anything that I could justify myself with.

-----------------------------------------------------

The nights are cold and my body is wracking in pain. Sometimes I can watch my breath come out as clouds of smoke. I remember my grandfather used to smoke.

Sometimes I can forget where I am and imagine myself somewhere else that isn't here.

But that's rare for some reason.

-----------------------------------------------------

I'm sitting on the other side of the desolated park from where a boy is still curled up foetal from being kicked in the stomach and beaten until there is blood on each side of his face.

The boy had a headdress common to the Sikh religion worshippers. Other religions and ethic background people wear them too but that isn't really any matter in this.

What I seen; witnessing such unorthodox attacking is repulsive.

To hear what the gang of kids that attacked him were nearly yelling if not screaming. The kids had hoodies and jeans that were ripped in a supposedly stylish way. Though I could differ but that would mean that I would have to face the fact that I myself am wearing filthy Muggle clothes rather than the robes and odd pair of sneaked in trousers.

I'm not going to do that.

However the boy was walking when I watched him being surrounded. The books he was carrying ending up to the side on the dying grass. The boys that weren't very much taller then him towering over him. The outnumbered boy was perhaps afraid because to go from obviously studying to have to defend oneself from predators that are the same age as you and by the looks of the neighbourhood are of the same citizen class… it must be hard to handle.

If it were I, the fact that I was much better (meaning much much richer) than them would have me puff up my chest and coldly regard. Even if the outcome were not at all favourable the fact that thugs that were lower than me beat me would still allow me to lift my chin.

But as I said this boy is the same as these who surround him except whom he worships may be different.

No it's no longer the colour of the skin that matters in either the Wizarding or Muggle world but whom you are in awe of. Where your faith and loyalty is.

The Muggle world is not so different than mine in the regard.

The first shove was not too bad that the boy in the headdress couldn't catch his footing.

It was the third that made him fall adding the punch to the side of his head.

As he was fallen I couldn't see anything really because the group of boys swarmed around him.

It was when they left that I seen the result.

Bloody boy in a foetal position.

It's been nearly fifteen minutes since the boys left.

Finally as the boy gingerly gets up to fix his askew headdress I leave.

-------------------------

A/N: I don't really know anything about London so the field is just a made up thing. Also in North America kids in hoodies and jeans are the sterotypical 'bad kids' for some reason.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Some day you will ache

Like I ache."

- Courtney Love, Hole.

Doll parts.

"You can't say cunt in Canada

'cause cunt's considered pretty fuckin' rude."

- Kevin Bloody Wilson

I feel all this pain. The aching in my bones are not a problem I could deal with that if I didn't have to deal with the pounding pain in my chest every time I move or even breathe. I swear that even the beat of my heart hurts like a pain that shouldn't exist.

I've been coughing up crimson. I don't want to think of what it truly is because that would mean I would have to admit that I really am sick.

Amber's disappeared and Mouse Boy is gone as well.

Everyone here dies, leaves or just forgets to stay.

They found Spinney strangled by the scum side of London Bridge. At least it's the side you can call scum though in this air pollution…

------------------------------

I feel really hot despite the cold that is all around me. I've taken off the big coat that I was given. Though despite it all I feel hotter. My cough has gotten worse and its bothering me more because of the heat my body seems to keep inside itself.

My hand is out for change from Muggles but the problem is that most of them can tell I'm sick and don't want to come near me. Some of them aren't very subtle about the way they find me disgusting.

But I don't care. I need money for medicine or whatever I can get.

I could shop lift in the store. I know the ingredients I need but I only know how to use them and where to get them in the Wizarding world. Otherwise I'm guessing Muggles keep such chemicals in their backrooms.

--------------------------

It is now nighttime and I feel worse. My vision is shot and I feel blurry and dizzy like I'm on a canvas and someone has thrown water over my colour.

"…Hey!" It's one of those guys who say he looks after kids. The richness of his clothes, no matter how dreadful they are, tell his status in this underground world. His too dark skin making the gold necklace stands out even more.

I look at him waiting for him to say something.

"You need help. Right, I can help you there kid, if you help me." I don't like the sound of his voice it reminds me of Lockhart's in my Second Year.

I shake my head.

"Come on. It'll make you feel better." I look down at his immaculately clean hand. Blue pills.

NO.

I turn my eyes up at him. Trying to focus despite the fact that the dizzy spell is becoming worse. I shake my head.

His white teeth hurt my eyes.

"Here I'll give you these for free. Then if you want more you can always come for them." He takes my hand and puts the blue pills in the palm of the dirt ridden hand.

I watch him walk away from the bench in which I set myself up at.

I look down at my hand and tip it so that the blue fade into the shadows of the night.

I will not do that.

----------------------------

I've become desperate. I need to get better because I promised myself that I would survive.

I may lie I may cheat I may do many things… but to break a promise to myself is something no one as conceited as I could ever do.

So I will break one of the principles that I set myself up on being naive to think that it could be kept.

----------------------------------------------

"So how much will you be again?" The man has a goatee that looks repulsive on the acne scarred face. The eyes are dark but not dark enough to be attractive. He's scrawny and sallow skinned.

I feel ashamed.

"30 £."

"Bit much don't you think?" The sneer is barely disguised.

"No." My voice is final.

"Fine. Get in."

----------------------------------------------

I cannot believe that I've sunk this low.

The house is pathetic and has patches of dirt on the deadened lawn. The paint is pealing off the dark blue house. The windows have years of dirt on them. Its disgusting and reminds me of them man right beside me. The door creaks loudly on the hinges that are rusty…

When he leads me past rooms that smell horrible to one that smells like cigarette smoke and urine and rotted food.

The moment those grubby hands touch me I can feel the panic go through me. As he takes off my shirt…

I freak.

I push him back and just take off running even though my chest feels as though its going to break.

Out the door and down the street and without a pause I run as I hear the man rumble after me. Down the street whose road has pot holes. The ache is hurting horribly.

But I don't want this.

I won't have this.

No, I will not lower myself to being a whore.

So I run from #9 Grimmauld Place and run despite the fact that beyond a doubt I can feel my chest being ripped apart.

But I don't care.

"FUCKING FAG!" It doesn't matter if that's what the man is screaming behind me. Because I'm gone.

He'll never touch me.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9.

"There is nothing quite as wonderful as money,

There's nothing as beautiful as cash."

- Monty Python.

I've been cold and lonely for too long. It's been a couple of days since the incident with that man and my pathetic attempt at trying to sell my body for money… After all how could I think that I could sell my body?

No longer an issue considering I seem to have gotten better. In other words that sort of fever I had contacted into my body is no longer a problem.

I've heard some gossip from the kids in the factory and the ones that are panhandling on the street that the Youth Centre is beginning to lose funding and so there are major cutbacks. I don't know whether or not I'm upset considering only when I am desperate do I go there. But I was getting use to the company there is. The not-so-cold-people or fear-me-I'm-gonna-rip-your-guts-open.

So I think I'll use the 2£ I was able to get and grab a coffee than head over to the Youth Centre.

--------------------------------------

The old building has grown on me. In fact lately I've found myself relieved more than I would ever care to admit, when I see the sight of the decrepit place.

So I push the door in and smell the sort of air freshener that the volunteers spray in here. It smells like citrus scents, that I think they buy purely because the kids who come here love it.

There are more people here than I'm used to. Their conversations a wide range of things.

"So I was like…."

"That place downtown is nice…"

"Anyways, I got a…"

I like it. For some reason it brings that soft smile that was rare even when I had the whole world in my pocket to my face.

I stop when I survey the people and come up with more red heads than should be allowed in the world. Especially two identical ones.

They're talking to the middle aged man with a clean-shaven chin that runs the Youth Centre in the corner of the room. The place is so crowded that they won't be able to see me properly.

Not that hey would recognize me for what I've become. I barely even recognize myself, even when I'm not looking in a mirror.

I turn to Kit who's sitting at a table playing chess with…

Dear Merlin!

I can imagine my the pupils of my eyes becoming contracting…

The red head doesn't even bother looking at me.

I'm near the door so I could easily slip out without any one of them noticing me.

Out of the corner of my eye I see someone staring right at me.

They have messy hair and a definite body build that I couldn't mistake for anyone having studied it when I was once Seeker.

I can imagine the green emerald eyes becoming 'Avada Kevadra'.

For some reason during this panic to get to the door it occurs to me that the Demon Twins are here to help with the funding of the Youth Centre.

Suddenly and without reason it also occurs to me that I feel betrayed by the Youth Centre.

I walk out the door as two more street kids come in through it.

--------------------------------------

I refuse to go back. I don't want to be caught. I don't want anyone to know what I've become. I don't want anyone to know that I'm a street kid and I have to steal and beg in order to get just a morsel of food.

I'm ashamed.

Dear Merlin, I'm ashamed of myself.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10.

"Ob la di

Ob la da

Life goes on"

The Beatles.

Just a song I'm listening to.

Its been raining for so long now. I've lost the count of days, but I think that it's been about four days since that incident at the Youth Centre.

I must say that it is beyond my surprise that after the entire thing where They obviously knew I was there that they don't just show up to take me back to meet my end. It's not as if I would be hard to find. I couldn't even leave the Youth Centre properly because I walk too slowly since my coughing has increased.

But I'll try not to dwell on it. Instead I'll watch the ceiling where I imagine the worms and maggots originate from.

I imagine them being molecules that turn into a bacteria that move into clusters to create the insects.

Then I think of a story to go with it.

----------------------------------------

The rain has turned to snow.

I'm nearly a frozen icicle on the street from the frost. My hands are shaking, my teeth clacking together. They hurt, my teeth, my nose is frozen and my chest is on fire.

I don't know whether or not this is a good idea. To stay on the street asking passer-by's for money. I must look as a corpse would look. With my now near skeletal frame and my probably disgusting skin nearly clinging onto me.

I could cry but I'm trying to save all my body's energy for this begging.

I've been here for two hours and nothing has been given.

Fuckfaces.

I can't believe that these people can bear to look at themselves in the mirror when there are people like me dying right in front of their eyes.

--------------------------------------

The factory is better because some of the kids have decided to make a fire in a non-existent fireplace.

I could tell them this.

But I'm cold and desperate for heat as are they.

Besides at this point in my life it may be a mercy to burn to death.

Well, it beats freezing.

-----------------------------------


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11.

"I like sandwiches.

I will not ask a favour

I will not ask a fee

But if you have a sandwich

Could you give a bite to me."

-Penner, Kids song.

Bit Creepy

I can feel myself wasting away. I can feel the bones in my hand scrape together because they have not enough room in my skin to move with. I can imagine the world going on with fluffy bunnies running around green fields with Longbottom Gryffindorks running after them in sunflower dresses…

I imagine my mother's body swinging from a tree while my father's mangled body is being torn apart by Hippogriffs.

I imagine a lot of things.

Except my own reality.

I don't want to accept it.

------------------------------------

The cold is really starting to get to me. I can barely feel my body and when I do I can feel both the ice pricks and the over bearing heat. The other kids around here have taken to wearing whatever clothing they can find. I can't do much since I've lost whatever energy I barely even had.

I've noticed that the numbers of kids has suddenly stopped being so high. Where there used to be at the most twenty there are now merely seven beside myself. The coldness drives everyone away.

I think that the ones who are left behind are the ones that are too old to be given shelter and the other's just surviving on their own.

------------------------------

It's hard to get up because every time I try to get up I get too dizzy and then I need to sit down once again.

I feel sick.

I can no longer hide it.

With the way that my body feels too heavy that I feel like I'm falling to the deepest dept of the sea when I lie down. My head aches and feels as if it's on fire. I can't really think anymore.

It's odd that my body aches yet I cannot really feel it.

It's odd that I can puke but all I'm really doing is dry heaving.

It's odd that I can barely breath yet I'm still coughing.

It's odd that my entire body is cold yet I feel like I'm in a volcano.

-----------------------------

I feel like I'm dying.

Dying in a factory for the decrepit and diseased of a Western civilization.

My lungs are nearly dead I can imagine the maggots from the ceiling coming down on the spider webs they've stolen and burrowing into my chest to eat at the lungs.

Leaving my heart for the Lame Game Gryffindorks to find.

All the while having Longbottom run after those bunnies.

------------------

I could imagine them laughing.

Laughing at me and everything else they could mock.

Laughing because I deserved it and everything deserves it.

------------------------------------

If I close my eyes it gets worse.

If I close my eyes I feel hands on me putting the gold coins over my eyes.

I'm afraid to close my eyes.

---------------------------------------------

There's a story that I made up once. It was about the most beautiful thing in the world.

Cheese.

I loved cheese.

Cheese anything just because they were orange.

I liked to drink orange juice and eat oranges and smell oranges…

Just 'cause the entire thing made me happy.

For no reason at all.

Then I went to Hogwarts and met the people who made me hate orange and anything would remind me of my favourite colour and food.

But I think if I see the colour orange right now I could still love it.

And for once I won't need a reason.

Because I want to smile without having to hurt myself.

Because I want to laugh without nearly hacking up a lung.

-----------------------------------------

A/N: ending of this makes absolutely no sense. But four more chapters to go!


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

'Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning?'

-George W. Bush

I remember what it felt to have the fist smash into my face when I was 13 and it felt as if the world had suddenly gone backward. I remember the feeling of shock of it hit me harder than when the realization that my father killed children came upon me.

In truth the reality of my father and the Death Eaters was always there. But I never really paid attention to it. I mean, it's how things were done right?

Or maybe it was wrong.

So horribly wrong.

Maybe that's why I never tried to get my own back with the Mudblood when she smacked me. Because I knew somehow that I deserved it but at the same time I knew that I didn't…

Maybe I've never really known anything but yet somehow at the same time I think that I know everything.

It makes no sense but I've come to understand that rarely does anything.

------------------------------

I remember the stung hurt that I felt when Potter and the Blood Traitor snarled at me from that cabin. We were only 11 and I already hated them.

Why though?

I just never at all liked them. I didn't like the way that they were soft and had been laughing and were the happier versions of the scared First Years. I never liked that I was jealous and envious because I had money. 'I' got everything I asked for. Unlike the Blood Traitor whose parents could barely afford to buy him shoes.

'My' parents were alive… so why was I jealous of The Goddamned Boy Who Just Wouldn't Die?

I don't understand.

I had money I had looks, charm, personality (no matter what anyone else fuckin' says), brains, friends…

Why the hell couldn't I just let it go?

Why did I have to provoke them and hate them all at the same time wanting to 'be' them?

I don't know.

I never did.

I don't ever think I will.

--------------------------

I find myself odd.

I mean the thing that I most judge about a person when I meet them is their smile. However I rarely get to see peoples smile.

Directed at me.

I know why. I mean not even I could ever by pass the fact that I'm definitely not the most likable person…

I am content on being that way. Just so I don't have to go around being nice to people I would rather say 'Fuck off' to.

Besides I'm a Slytherin, Malfoy and currently a Death Eater.

And I embrace all these attributes. Even if it means I live on the street and am currently trying to keep my guts inside my body.

I have a choice. In fact I have a whole lot of them.

Just none of them have me coming out of this adolescent life unscathed.

It's gonna get better I know.

I know it because I can feel it. My body will not allow itself to be ruled and dictated over by some petty illness that I should have never come in contact with in the first place.

--------------------------

I think I read somewhere that there are people whose souls are old.

Meaning that though they are young they have the soul of the wise.

I must have the soul of a newborn. Just cause I want to scream and have someone fuckin' care…

----------------------------

I remember when I was 12 and I bought myself the 'Seeker of Slytherin' I didn't care that other people could tell I bought myself something they'd have to work for. Mainly because it made me feel great to know that money really did make the word go round and that these lame Fuckfaces would never truly know how 'great' it was to know that you could really rule the world.

Because I could've.

I could've been either the Dumbledore or the Dark Lord…

I'd being lying if I said that I wouldn't have become the Dark Lord.

Although…

Not as Dark.

Maybe just a Shade…

The Shady Lord of the Whole Fuckin' Universe!

Make it Galaxy.

No!

Dimension…

-----------------------------

I can feel my whole head on fire and my throat dry.

I can feel my whole body quivering at the coldness that fills the air.

I can feel my whole mediocre life play out in little snapshots beneath the surface of my mind.

I know that I won't watch.

Instead I'll watch the spider's crawl on the ceilings, wondering which one will fall… fall into my mouth.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"We all live in a yellow

Submarine."

- The Beatles.

There's something different.

Something strange afoot and I cannot figure out what it is. I know what it could be.

Though I doubt that Death would itch like wool.

Or smell like oranges and pancakes.

In fact I'm one of the people who believe that Death is merely a blank black thing that matters not.

I can feel my eyelashes flutter against the soft flesh just above my cheekbones. I always thought that my eyelashes were ridiculously long but thanked my genetic code that I'm a blonde so I don't look at all like a girl. Meaning that you can't really see the length of the ridiculous things.

I can tell that I'm not in the factory anymore.

Also that I'm no longer sick.

Which is odd. I mean I'm wizard make no mistake, but even I cannot simply heal myself in the course of sleep to regenerate.

However I won't let that bother me.

Instead I'll take this comfort for what it is worth…

----------------------------

I'm awake and now aware of where I am.

Which is a house.

Or at least a room that looks as though it has been fitted for guests to use. With all the right homely touches that still leave the rather desolate use of the room.

The bed I'm on is a four-poster bed that resembles the ones at Hogwarts, with white linens and comforter. Just enough to be comforting yet impersonal.

I think I've gotten too use of things being dirty and gritty to find that I really don't actually like this room and the cleanliness of it. Too luxurious and too overdone. The walls with the redwood covering it, the finely furnishings of the chair and nightstand. The hardwood floor shiny and not at all dull.

Where is the dust and dirt?

Where is the half starving drug infused kids?

Where is the reality of the world?

I'm feeling beyond down right now.  
I want to cry for no explicable reason if not for the fact that my body outline in the comforter reminds me of body bags… or the sheets that covered my father's study after he was sent to Azkaban.

I can feel the skin on the back of my neck stretch and I imagine that there are other people watching that skin and bidding on what it would take to break the skin and have a gapping hole…

-----------------------------------------------------------

I find it odd that the panic has seized upon me as it has.

One would be inclined to think that as I have been awake for the past few hours the moment on waking would have me tensing up near painfully and wanting to get out of the room.

But I just throw the blanket up and swing my feet over the side and prepare to run out in a panic. A scream is even at the back of my throat begging to be let out.

Instead I'm very unsteady and manage to veer of the side and crash my hip into the side table.

The flare of pain hurts more than I would've have expected it to.

I didn't notice the woman come in when she did.

All I know is that a short woman with red hair is right beside me and trying a soothing voice on me. Her hand is warm on my shrunken arm and somehow she possesses the calming aura around her.

She's telling me that I must get back into the bed if I want to heal properly…

I let her tuck me back in like I am a child. She smiles and I notice that it calms me down.

Suddenly this room doesn't seem so inhuman.

Suddenly I have a glass of water placed in front of my face.

A Sleeping Draught.

I know the smell.

I accept my defeat. I drink.

----------------------------------------------


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"Fee fi foo fum

I smell the blood of an asylum"

-Monty Python

I don't pay attention when the sound of click resonates in the room.

When I look up I can feel my eyes as if they've hallowed more so and my face is eating them up.

There's a big bald man of African decent and a woman with vivid pink hair and scrunched features coming in the room. Flanked by two other people I recognize as the Auror that terrorized me in school and the other as one of the men who arrested my father.

I'm staring right at them but I can't help but get the feeling that I'm not at all really seeing them. Instead I accept my fate to these people who I cannot get myself to feel anything about.

The silence that seems impervious continues long. But instead of dwelling on the shame that I am expected to feel I look down at my hands and watch the bones jut out from rough and calloused hand. They have suffered so much during the past months.

Months…

Why does it feel like decades?

"Where is he?" The rough harsh voice of Ex- Professor (the real one) asks.

I shrug.

"Take this." A deeper timber says while holding a glass of water. The black fingers wrapped around translucent glass and the liquid inside it. I take it and drink it. Tasting the slight tang of Veritaserum in the otherwise untainted water. There is no copper taste that I've become accustomed to.

"Where is he?"

The answer is ripped from my mouth.

"I don't know."

"Where is Severus Snape?"

"Alive."

"What were you doing in London?"

"Dying. Surviving. Pissing in the rain."

"Do you know where the Death Eaters are?"

"Scattered."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

"Where are your parents?"

"Dead."

"Both?"

"Might as well be."

"Where is Voldemort?"

"Riddle House."

"Where is that?"

"I don't know."

"Where is Greyback?"

"Durham."

"Do you know where?"

"No."

"How many ranks does he have?"

"90"

"… Are all of them werewolves?"

"No. There are a majority of vampires, giants and trolls, the werewolf bite is starting to kill off those infected."

"Dementor's?"

"The Dark Lord has control of them."

"Why did Snape kill Dumbledore?"

"I don't know. I don't care."

"Why did you leave?"

"…"

"Don't fight it, boy!"

"Because I could."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not completely insane. Or a murderer. Or at all evil."

"Then what are you?"

"A Fuck- Up."

------------------------------------------------

I'm sitting at a rather large table surrounded by people I've known to be close the The Old Man before he died.

They are talking English and I understand every word.

But it still feels like they are talking in another language.

"What are you going to do?" The question has caught me off by surprise. Prof-- Headmistress McGonagall is staring at me intently.

I shrug.

Alastor Moody starts to say "We could use the boy…"

The Auror Tonks says "He deserted them Moody, he's useless."

The discussion on my worthlessness continues on.

Suddenly the door bursts open and in comes the true bane of my essence.

The Fuckin' Gryffindork Trio.

Potter's face is red with malice and he's staring at me.

"WHY THE FUCK IS HE HERE! "

"Harry!" All the adults look shocked.

"I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU BROUGHT THE BASTAR---"

"Harry James Potter! Sit down and I don't want to here any language from you." The red headed woman that slipped me the Sleeping Draught is very commanding and appears to reign in this cult of sorts.

Potter sits all the while glaring at me.

I don't care though.

Headmistress McGonagall is staring at me.

"I don't know what to do with you Mr. Malfoy…"

"Feed him to the werewolves when they come." It's the doubles that say this. Both staring at me as if they are mimes…

"Don't be so crude." It's the red head I seen Greyback attacking that night at Hogwarts. There's a woman whose Veela ancestry is clear sitting right beside him.

"Why are you here Malfoy?" The Mudblood is talking to me. She has a steel look to her eyes.

"Ignore them Draco. Tell me are you hiding? From Voldemort and Snape?" It's Werewolf Professor. The one who wore the rags.

I look down at the table.

"No." I can here a snort on the right of me.

"Then why were you on the street?"

I look up. My eyes feel like lead in my skull. Cold and somewhat poisoning.

"Because I choose to."

-----------------------------------

A/N: The Truth Serum thing I made it so that it wasn't really necessary because Draco would have told them the truth anyways. So his answers are probably a bit more elaborate then they would've been if he hadn't been cooperating.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"Some things in life are bad  
They can really make you mad  
Other things just make you swear and curse.  
When you're chewing on life's gristle  
Don't grumble, give a whistle  
And this'll help things turn out for the best...

And...always look on the bright side of life...  
Always look on the light side of life...

If life seems jolly rotten  
There's something you've forgotten  
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.  
When you're feeling in the dumps  
Don't be silly chumps  
Just purse your lips and whistle - that's the thing.

And...always look on the bright side of life...  
Always look on the light side of life...

For life is quite absurd  
And death's the final word  
You must always face the curtain with a bow.  
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin  
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.

So always look on the bright side of death  
Just before you draw your terminal breath

Life's a piece of shit  
When you look at it  
Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true.  
You'll see it's all a show  
Keep 'em laughing as you go  
Just remember that the last laugh is on you.

And always look on the bright side of life...  
Always look on the right side of life...  
(Come on guys, cheer up!)  
Always look on the bright side of life...  
Always look on the bright side of life...  
(Worse things happen at sea, you know.)  
Always look on the bright side of life...  
(I mean - what have you got to lose?)  
(You know, you come from nothing - you're going back to nothing.  
What have you lost? Nothing!)  
Always look on the right side of life..."

- Monty Python, Life of Brian

I've somehow managed to find myself bracing the cold of oncoming winter once again.

But this time I do have a plan.

This time I'm not going to allow myself to fall into the cracks of society simply because of discrimination and poverty.

I've decided to go to place known on the streets for helping kids out. Only they control everything you do… with curfews and dinnertimes and such… which no kid wants to follow.

But I figure that I've lived ten months in boarding school for the rules not to at all bother me.

I'm not sure what it's called but I know enough to try my chances there…

----------------------------------

"Your name?"

"Derek Malachy."

"Age?"

"15."

"OK. Your reason's for joining the program?"

"To get a job and education."

The woman nods. She's a crisp woman who eerily reminds me of McGonagall. I would ask her if they're related if I thought it was at all a possibility.

"I'll need to take a drug test and you will need to undergo some examinations." I have no idea what the hell she's talking about.

But I nod anyways.

She hands me a cup and points to the door.

I take the cup and just look at it.

"A drug test requires urine."

I'm still not getting it. She rolls her eyes.

"Mr. Malachy. You will need to urinate into the cup." I look down at the cup again.

"Isn't it a bit small?"

She laughs…

------------------------------------

The examinations that they take are of reading and math comprehensions. They are needed to evaluate the sort of treatment they will need for the child.

Though now that I look down at these tests I think that even Vincent and Gregory could've got an Outstanding.

I've done five tests and now they've marked them and are giving me an answer.

The man with the barbell moustache talks to me

"Well, considering your age and the marks on the exams we have decided to have you go into the foster family program with the possibility of seeking an Independent Living in about a years time. Meanwhile you will have to go to high school as a regular student possibly getting into the Honour classes. Since you had no substances in your system we are trusting that this will not be a complete waste on you Derek."

I nod.

Though, I'm sort of wishing I hadn't lied about my age. But then that was running the risk of having them not pay attention to me.

I smile to the family that is to mine for the next twelve or so months.

I can do this.

Or at least I think I can.

Fin.

---------------

A/N: OK. I'm not at all satisfied with this end but I wanted to get the ball running for people to write stuff about Draco Malfoy as a Muggle. Mainly because Malfoy seems to be a sort of character who would be out saving his own ass rather than fighting.


End file.
